Time Stood Still
by Phanita
Summary: Martha's life is at stake. Lionel takes her to a safe place to protect her. Alone where no one can find them, they can finally accept what is truly between them. Mionel.
1. Part One

A/N: This is part one of three in this Mionel story. It was originally supposed to be a one-shot, but I got a little carried away. Enjoy! – Elisabeth

Disclaimer: I don't own Smallville. This story is purely for fun.

* * *

It was a rainy spring night. Storm clouds had gathered throughout the evening, and thunder rumbled faintly in the distance. Lionel was watching the flashes of light from the window in his office that overlooked the resplendent city in all its glory. He was deep in thought. Having this hour to himself, alone with no one to intrude, it was a sentimental time for him. He could sort out his priorities, troubles, and more personable matters.

Like his relationship with Martha Kent.

Lionel always found a smile when he thought of Martha. She was a special woman, and he didn't really deserve her friendship. He wanted it, though. Knowing that there was someone out there who really cared about him made his life have more of a purpose. Martha made him see with more clarity. She was good, and his hardened heart needed her love. If she would just bestowed him with the affection he craved from her, he knew he would be a different man; more compassionate and thoughtful towards life.

Lionel closed his eyes. The difficulty was earning Martha's trust. He saw in her eyes the distrust in him. He could understand why, and he couldn't blame her, but a part of him was wounded each time he tried to grow closer, but she pushed him away.

Lionel didn't know what he could do to show Martha that he could be trusted. What he did know was that he wanted more in their relationship than a unpretentious friendship. He wanted to show her that they could be compatible together. Any hardships he would bear just for her. She had to understand that.

The next boom of thunder shook the building on its foundation. Lionel felt it in the depths of his very soul. It reminded him that storms had to be weathered in all relationships. That was how life moved forward. There was always the occasional flash of lightening or the drops of rain that were like tears of sorrow.

Lionel had never truly been happy in his life after Lilian died. But with Martha, he felt that invigorating emotion each time she bestowed him with a smile. It was a refreshing feeling from the sea of bitterness that normally raged inside him. It scared him, but he was trying so hard to break the barrier around his heart that made him so bitter. He was ready to change his ways if it made Martha come to him.

A buzz sounded from the intercom, interrupting Lionel's silent musings. He pressed his index finger to the button.

"Sir, Martha Kent is here to see you," his receptionist announced.

"Send her up," Lionel said, pleased but surprised by this visit. It was late. He wondered why Martha was here on this dreary night and not in the cozy warmth of the Kent farmhouse.

Two minutes later, the doors to Lionel's office opened, and Martha came in. Her russet waves of hair were damp from the rain. She looked flustered, but at the same time, radiantly beautiful. Lionel's heart began to race in his chest from the very sight of her.

"Martha! What a pleasant surprise," he said, rising from his desk. He stepped out to greet her. "To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?"

Martha brushed back a damp strand of hair from her eyes. She was smiling, but the gentle curve of her lips was reticent.

"Lionel, I want to talk," she said.

Lionel noted the hesitancy in her tone. Whatever was on her mind was obviously troubling her. He smiled to try to ease the tension in her rigid shoulders. Martha slowly met his gaze.

"I'm here for you, Martha," Lionel said gently. "Whatever you wish to discuss, I'm all ears." He motioned to the chair behind his desk for her to take a seat, but Martha shook her head.

"Lionel, let me get right to the point. I know there is something between us. I'm not blind to it. But I'm not ready to dive into another relationship, and I thought you understood that."

Lionel was confused now. He furrowed his brow. "I do understand that. I would never want to do anything to deliberately hurt you, Martha."

Martha's lips thinned in a wary frown. "Then why send me flowers? And in the middle of an important meeting, might I add."

Lionel shook his head in bewilderment. "I didn't send you flowers," he said sincerely. Inside, he felt a twist of what could only be the qualms of jealousy. Knowing that another man was striving for Martha's affection was the cause. He didn't like the thought one bit.

Martha's brow creased. The contrast of wanting to trust his denial and distrust him because she believed he wasn't giving the honest truth warred in her eyes. Lionel took a hesitant step forward. How could he prove to her that he was being honest?

"I promise you, Martha," he muttered, almost fervently. "I had nothing to do with sending you flowers. I made you a promise that I wouldn't tarnish our friendship by pursuing something deeper."

Martha glanced away from him and he couldn't read the emotions that played on her face.

"The card said Lionel Luthor," she muttered. "Unless someone is playing with me, what would you like me to think?"

Lionel wanted to reach out and touch her warm cheek, but he refrained from the action, and instead clasped his hands behind his back.

"I don't know, Martha. I only want you to believe my word."

He suddenly had a disturbing thought: why would someone send Martha flowers in his name? Were they trying to hurt her, or was this a dirty trick meant to create a false rumor that could harm her reputation?

Lionel turned away and focused his gaze to the window. He would find out who did this. No one dared to hurt Martha and got away with it without dealing with him.

The rain had ceased a bit. A fine mist played in the glistening lights of the city. Lionel closed his eyes, wondering what he could say to Martha. A tensed silence had fallen over them like the mist that fell outside. It felt like it would be difficult to break, and Lionel didn't want to say the wrong words. Silence was a much better alternative than trying to permute Martha's distrust in him.

Lionel opened his eyes. He caught a glint from the rooftop of the next building. Immediately, his first thought was a gunman, and with a start, he realized Martha had been set up. The culprit who had sent her flowers in his name knew she would come to confront Lionel. It was his chance to get a clear shot at her―or perhaps even both of them―and end their lives with the pull of the trigger.

A plan well devised.

Lionel spun around. Martha was gazing fixedly out the window at the dreary drizzle. She seemed completely oblivious to the danger she was in.

There was no time for hesitation now.

"Martha, get down!" Lionel cried, lunging at her. As their bodies collided and fell in a tangle of limbs on the floor, the window shattered into pieces. A bullet struck the wall behind where Martha had stood only a moment ago.

"Oh my God," Martha whispered breathlessly. She propped herself up on her elbows and stared in open-mouthed dismay at the glassless window. A gust of wind blew in, bringing with it cold mist and a chilly draft.

Lionel knew the danger was far from over. The killer was determined, and he wouldn't stop until he had achieved what he had set out to do.

"Martha, get away from the window," Lionel ordered calmly. "We need to get you to safety and out of harms way. You're perpetually in danger now."

Martha crawled through the shards of glass towards him. She was trembling uncontrollably, and her bottom lip quivered with the realization that she had almost been killed. Lionel did the only thing he knew to console her: he wrapped his arms around her and pulled her into his chest.

"There now, it's going to be alright," he muttered soothingly. "I'm not going to let anyone hurt you, Martha."

"I know," Martha whispered against his chest.

The doors to the office burst open, and four security personnels came in with their weapons poised. Two surrounded Lionel and Martha; the other two moved to the window, shattered glass crunching under their boots.

"Sir, we need to move," one of the men said. "You aren't safe up here. The assassin could still be prepared to shoot—this time to hit his mark."

"I understand that, Horace," Lionel said brusquely, keeping Martha encumbered in his arms. "What I want you to do is secure the perimeter around the building. I'm not taking any chances now."

Horace nodded curtly. "Yes, sir." He pressed the comm in his ear to relay the orders to his subordinates. Then he motioned to the rest of the men, and they surrounded Lionel and Martha in a barrier of protection.

The group hurried to the elevator. Inside, Lionel pressed the button to the garage. He took out his phone to alert his driver of the circumstances, and for him to be prepared.

"Lionel, what's going to happen?" Martha asked, brow creased in worry. She was gazing up at him. Lionel saw trust in those blue eyes that he had come to love, especially when they sparkled ebulliently. Now, they were clouded with fear and apprehension. Lionel placed his hand on her shoulder and squeezed gently to reassure her.

"I'm going to take you somewhere safe, Martha," he answered. "Then, I will have top men track down the assassin who made an attempt on your life. We won't rest until this atrocity is taken care of."

Martha nodded her head once in answer. She placed her hand over his in a silent proclamation that she was willingly putting her fate in his hands.

The elevators doors opened with a quiet whoosh. The driver had the vehicle waiting and stood at the ready; he swung open the back passenger door. Lionel ushered Martha in before sliding next to her.

"You know where to go, Paul," Lionel said.

Paul nodded into the mirror. He knew the drill well.

The next hour it took to leave the boundaries of Metropolis seemed tedious. Paul took several roundabout ways to make sure no one would be on their tail. He was well-versed in getting his boss out of dire situations that called for quick thinking and excellent navigation skills.

Soon, the blur of city lights faded into moonlight slithering through the budding branches of trees. The clouds had cleared and only a few dotted the night sky. The countryside was basked in a pale, ghostly light from the full moon.

Martha had fallen asleep from exhaustion. Her forehead had rested on the hard glass of the window, but Lionel had gently tugged her towards him to let her head fall to his shoulder. He hoped she would be more comfortable that way.

Lionel was enjoying the warmth of her body close to his despite the harsh circumstances of their situation. He tried not to let his thoughts stray to intimate matters, but he couldn't suppress the urge to pull Martha into his arms and hold her. He couldn't deny the strong attraction they shared. If he wasn't trying so hard to keep this wonderful friendship they had cordial, he would have already confessed to Martha what lay unspoken in the depths of his heart―that he cared deeply for her.

Lionel sighed, feeling helpless. He brushed an errant strand of russet hair from Martha's brow as tenderly as he could. She stirred, but didn't open her eyes. Sleep still claimed her in its arms. Nothing, it seemed, would draw her from it. Lionel could only hope her harrowing experience hadn't brought nightmares in its wake.

* * *

When Martha opened her eyes, the car had stopped. She blinked in an futile attempt to clear her sleep-lulled senses into waking up. Darkness shrouded the vehicle, but the moon's light was sufficient, and its glow lit up the night.

Martha glanced over at where Lionel sat, but found that she was alone. She scooted over to the window and peered out into the darkness.

Lionel was discussing something with his driver. The man nodded, said something, then the men broke away from their huddle. Martha sat up when the door opened and Lionel glanced in.

"You're awake," he said quietly.

"Awake and wanting to know where we are," Martha replied lethargically. Her eyes were feeling heavy. She wanted to curl up and sleep again, though it didn't seem possible with the experience she had been through involving her life almost being taken. The thought made her shudder. What if that gunman had succeeded in his mission? She hated to think about it.

Lionel extended his hand to her. "A safe house," he explained. "For your safety, it was in our best interest to go someplace where no one would suspect and try and come searching for you. A cold-blooded assassin that is adept at his job won't rest until he has hit his mark."

Martha accepted his hand. His fingers closed around hers and warmed the chill that had settled over her. She slid out into the damp chill, bewildered by these feelings waging war inside her. She was trusting Lionel. Perhaps it was because he was the only person―besides for Clark― who she could depend on in this time of being wary about who you could place your trust in.

Martha glanced around at her surroundings, thinking she could place where she was, but what met her eyes was a landscape of unfamiliarity. There was a thick forrest of trees surrounding them, dark in the black of night, but shielding them from the world that didn't seem to be on their side. She averted her gaze to the dark shape of a small cottage. She couldn't make out much in the dark of night, but she could picture manicured flowerbeds and a picturesque front porch with a swing that invited one to come and enjoy the solitude and peace of being in the quiet countryside.

"It's quite beautiful in the daylight," Lionel muttered close to her ear, as if reading her thoughts. Martha found her first genuine smile since this morning, before all those meetings she had partaken in for her role as senator. It was when she was kissing her son goodbye in the homy comfort of the farmhouse kitchen. Clark had wished her the best of luck with an encouraging smile that said he believed in her. Martha was reminded that despite the drastic turn her life had taken, she could always find peace again in the heart of her home.

Thinking about Clark gave Martha a heavy feeling of worry for her son. She twisted the hem of her sleeve in tremulous fingers, hoping―praying―that he wouldn't begin to panic when he realized she hadn't come home.

But knowing Clark, he would comb every corner of the earth until he found her. She didn't want him in danger, but she also knew he could take care of himself.

"Come, Martha," Lionel murmured, tugging gently at her hand. His tenderness was breaking through the guard Martha had built around her heart to keep him from touching her in a place she wasn't ready to be touched. She was still mourning for Jonathan. But even still, Martha was beginning to trust Lionel, and it scared her.

She followed him wearily up a cobblestone walk to the front porch. Her feet felt heavy, and what she most desired was a hot shower and the comforting warmth of a bed.

Lionel delved into his pocket. He withdrew a key and unlocked the door with a soft click. Martha followed him inside. When he flicked on a light, she had to blink fervently to adjust her vision to the sudden brightness. This wasn't home, but the cottage had a very welcoming feel to it. It reminded her of the farmhouse. The beige sofa that sat in front of a stone hearth beckoned her to get off her tired feet, but first, she wanted a shower. Her hair was feeling tangled and damp from the rain.

"I keep the cottage periodically maintained," Lionel explained from behind her. "For the rare occasions that I need somewhere in solitude to be alone and to sort out troubling matters, this is the place to go."

"It's very nice," Martha said, glancing around in approval. "It reminds me of home."

"I had hoped you would feel that way." There was a smile in his voice. Martha turned to face him. Her breath hitched when she realized how close he stood to her. If she took a step forward, she would be in his arms.

"If you would please tell me where the bathroom is, I would like a shower," she said, stepping back a pace to put distance between them.

Lionel seemed to feel her uncertainty about their close proximity, because he too, took a small step back. "Of course. There is one in the master suite down the hall on your right."

Martha thanked him and brushed passed him to hurry down the hall to avoid anymore discomfort. She found the bedroom and slipped inside. When she flicked the light on, she was surprised by the simplicity of the room. She had been expecting a canopied bed with a satin bedspread and pillowcases. Instead, the four-poster bed had a colorful quilt draped over cotton sheets. The layout of the room had a rustic look to it that invited a feeling of comfort, and Martha was once more reminded of home. Perhaps Lionel had wanted a place that offered more of a humble homeliness to it than a sophisticated one. Whatever his thoughts had been in creating this safe house, he had succeeded in making her feel at home.

Martha slipped into the bathroom. She stripped off her white silk blouse and black slacks. Her fingers were still trembling, but from cold or her shock, she didn't know. She turned the shower nozzle until hot water sprayed steadily out. When she stepped into the blissful heat, she was warmed from her head to her toes. It felt invigorating to have the water wash away the rain and the tightness in her shoulders from her tension. Martha found a scented bar of soap that smelled of roses, and used it to wash her hair and skin.

She was feeling refreshed after the shower. Perhaps still a bit shaken up from her near encounter with death, but it would take more than a safe house and a shower to calm her nerves.

Especially because Martha realized that in this remote cottage in the middle of God-knew-where, she was completely and utterly alone with Lionel Luthor.


	2. Part Two

A/N: Part two of Time Stood Still, with more Mionel goodness to come

Disclaimer: I don't own Smallville. The story is purely for fun.

* * *

Lionel was pacing back-and-forth on the short expanse of the front porch. He was on the phone with his trusted advisory, giving out orders that he wanted carried out immediately. With Martha's life at stake, he wasn't going to stop his hunt until the assassin was located and apprehended. And once that was accomplished, Lionel wasn't going to be merciful. Some nameless bastard had tried to hurt the woman he cared for. They were going to find themselves in hell for their nefarious actions.

"We will see to the matter immediately, sir," the man on the other end promised. "You sit tight. The Senator will be safe in her current location until we have the assassin in our custody, rest assured."

"Good. I want updates when you have a lead. Keep me posted." Lionel ended the call and tucked his phone back into the pocket of his trousers. The chill of the night was starting to seep through his coat. He shivered and turned to go back inside.

Lionel hung his coat up on the coat rack. He couldn't help the smile that tugged on his lips when he saw Martha. She sat on the rug in front of the fire he built in the hearth, dressed in a robe that swallowed her up. She was trying to comb out her wet hair, but the task seemed difficult; her fingers were trembling. Lionel silently came into the living room. He took a seat on the sofa behind her.

"Let me, Martha," he muttered quietly, so as not to startle her. Lionel gently pried her fingers from the comb. Martha didn't protest when he carefully began to run the comb through the damp strands of her hair. Her shoulders drooped, and she clasped her hands tightly in her lap until they turned white.

"I can't stop shaking," she muttered in a barely audible voice. "God, I almost died, Lionel . . . " Her voice faded into a breathy whisper.

"You don't have to worry, Martha," Lionel crooned. "Everything is going to be fine now. I want you to relax and stop fretting."

Martha sighed and the tension seemed to dissipate from her. She leaned into Lionel as he continued to comb through her hair until each tangle was gone and the brush went smoothly through the soft waves.

"Thank you, Lionel," Martha whispered sleepily. "For everything you're doing for me." She rested her head against his knee, and Lionel watched her, sitting statue-still so as not to disturb her moment of finally letting all the tension go. He listening to her breathing until it changed to the even, long inhales and exhales of sleep.

Lionel set the brush aside. He stooped over and easily scooped Martha up into his arms bridal-style. Martha's head lolled against his shoulder. He carried her to the back bedroom and set her down on the bed before carefully tucking a quilt around her.

"Goodnight, Martha," he whispered.

Lionel hesitated at the door. He had considered stealing a kiss to her forehead while she was unbeknownst to his affections, but instead, turned and shut the door with a soft click behind him.

* * *

This time, when Martha opened her eyes, sunlight brightened the room. She felt warm and safe under the heavy quilt. Her dreams had been pleasant, and that surprised her. She thought her near encounter with a bullet that was aimed for her heart would have evoked nightmares. Her sleep had been quite the contrary.

Martha sat up and stretched out of her muscles. She was feeling revived and rested enough to start the day fresh and lucid. Perhaps today she could call Clark and reassure him that she was alright.

As soon as it was safe, Martha was going to ask Lionel to escort her home. She had duties to attend to, and she couldn't accomplish them here in this little corner of the world.

Martha climbed out of bed. She searched through the dresser to find something to put on. She didn't want to wear her silk blouse; it didn't seem appropriate in this setting. She was surprised to find a button-up flannel shirt. She had expected something more . . . Lionel Luthor. Martha was amused thinking about the sophisticated billionaire donning comfortable wear as casual as flannel.

Martha slipped on the soft flannel, rolling up the long sleeves. She pulled on her trousers from last night. Feeling ready to go out and find Lionel, she left the room and padded down the hall in bare feet.

The aromatic scent of bacon and coffee wafted through the hall, luring her to the kitchen. A smile of amusement tugged at her lips at the sight that met her eyes: Lionel, a dish towel draped over his shoulder, turning bacon at the stove. He looked different this morning. Instead of his normal dress of a button-down shirt, tie and slacks, he had chosen to don a navy-blue sweater and snug jeans.

Martha was awed by this transformation. Once more, the formidable Lionel Luthor had given her another surprise. She had misjudged him so many times, and truly, he wasn't the man she perceived him to be. What sides of his personality did he harbor inside and reserve for certain occasions?

As if sensing her presence, Lionel turned. His eyes lit up when he saw her.

"Good morning, Martha," he greeted cordially.

"Good morning, Lionel," Maratha replied, leaning her elbows against the cool countertop.

"I hope you are hungry. I'm not skilled when it comes to the culinary arts of cooking, but fear not. I can whip up the occasional eggs and bacon."

Martha laughed softly. "It smells delicious, Lionel."

"Thank you. Coming from you, that buoys my hope that my efforts in the kitchen will pay off."

Lionel retrieved two plates from the cabinet as he talked. He spooned generous portions of eggs on both plates and divided the bacon up equally between the two of them.

"I'm surprised," Martha admitted. "I've never seen you in jeans before."

Lionel chuckled, and the sound was warm and rich like dark chocolate. Martha liked his laugh. She wished she could hear it more often.

"I don't usually dress comfortably," Lionel answered. "When you are the CEO of one of the most profitable corporations in the world, your vocation calls for you to always look your best."

"This style suits you, Lionel."

"I'm glad you think so, Martha. It's refreshing to have a change every once in awhile."

Lionel brought the plates to the bar. He fetched two cups of coffee and handed one to Martha. They sat down next to each other on bar stools to enjoy the scrumptious breakfast. During the meal, the two of them had a causal conversation about comfortable matters, and nothing strayed far from what was pleasant. It was a nice way to start the morning.

After breakfast, Martha insisted on helping Lionel do the dishes. She rolled up her sleeves, and armed with a sponge and dish soap, tackled the grease and bits of egg that clung to the plates. Lionel grabbed a towel and dried the clean dishes she handed him.

"I don't want to bring this up," Martha said, scrubbing vigorously at the stubborn grease on the pan. "But I want to know if there are any updates about . . . last night." She glanced at Lionel to judge his facial expression. Lionel remained calm and at ease, like nothing could shatter his pleasant mood.

"I have top men on locating the assassin," he replied reassuringly. "Until then, I think it's best if you remain here, Martha. I don't think it's safe for you in Metropolis or Smallville. The killer could hunt you down in either locations."

Martha sighed wistfully thinking about home and of Clark. "I'm worried for my son," she admitted.

"You and I both know that Clark can protect himself."

"But he's going to be worried, Lionel. I didn't come home last night."

Lionel accepted the pan she handed him and proceeded to towel it dry. "If it eases your worry," he said diplomatically, "you can call your son and put his fears to rest."

Martha nodded eagerly. "I want to call him right now. If he knows I'm safe, he won't go racing all over Metropolis looking for me."

Lionel handed her the towel to dry her hands. He offered her his cellphone when she finished.

"Go on and give Clark a call."

Martha smiled graciously at him. "Thank you, Lionel." She accepted the phone and headed out to the front porch for some privacy. In the blissful morning air that smelled of damp leaves and sunshine, she took a seat on the porch swing. The breeze that whispered through the trees felt chilly, but the air held a warmth that made everything feel pleasant. Birds chirped from the treetops, singing praises to the revival of spring that replaced winters' chill.

Martha dialed Clark's number. She pressed the receiver to her ear, hoping her son picked up. The motherly instincts that throbbed inside her heart wanted to hear his voice. She wanted the relief of knowing he was alright, and this call was as much for her as it was for reassuring Clark that nothing bad had snatched her away during the night.

Clark picked up on the third ring.

"Hello?" he said, sounding tense.

"Clark, it's me," Martha called, elated to hear his voice. "I'm alright."

"Mom!" Clark sounded relieved, but worry lingered in his tone. "You didn't come home. I thought something bad had happened to you. I called , but they aren't much help."

"Clark, there was an attempt on my life. Lionel―"

"I knew you shouldn't have trusted him!" Clark sounded enraged now, and wouldn't give Martha a chance to explain and finish what she had been meaning to say. "Don't you worry, Mom. I'm going to hunt the―"

It was Martha's turn to interrupt.

"Clark! Listen to me, sweetheart. Lionel has nothing to do with this. He was the one who helped me to safety after I was shot at."

"Oh." Clark sighed as his contempt for Lionel dissipated some. "Well, that doesn't matter. I'm going to find your attacker. Chloe will help with the investigation."

Martha swallowed down the panic that threatened to steal her calm.

"It's too dangerous, Clark! Let the authorities handle it," she said pleadingly. She didn't want him involved. He wouldn't be thinking rationally. If he did succeed in finding the killer, he could be blinded by the realization that the assassin had nearly killed her, and he could do something he would regret later.

"Where are you?" Clark asked then, changing the subject to avoid the matter of his impulsion to find the assassin.

"I don't know exactly. But I'm safe, and that's what matters."

"Is Lionel with you?" Clark's tone sounded bitter with trepidation.

"Yes, Lionel is here. And before you start lecturing me on where I shouldn't place my trust, or how I should keep my guard up, please understand that I'm a grown woman who can look after herself."

"But Mom, I . . . " Clark sighed heavily in resignation. "Okay. If Lionel is offering you protection until I can find you, I guess I can allow him a bit of my trust."

Martha didn't argue on Clark's determination to find her. It would only evoke an argument, and she didn't want to end the call on a bad note.

"Thank you, Clark," she said. "I hope this can get cleared up soon. Until then, I miss you, and I don't want you to do anything foolish. I love you."

Clark didn't answer for a moment. His show of silence told Martha he wasn't going to listen to her. She sighed. He was as headstrong and as stubborn as his late father was.

"Love you, too Mom," Clark finally said. "Sit tight. I'll have this all cleared up in no time."

Martha finally found a smile. She wasn't going anywhere. She bid Clark farewell and promptly ended the call. For a moment, she sat back on the swing and enjoyed the quiet. She had so much to worry about that trying to find a balance between it all was making her feel strained.

The front door opened. Lionel came out and shut it softly behind him.

"Is everything alright?" he asked, coming to sit besides her. He left enough space between them for comfort.

"It's fine," Martha said half-heartedly. She passed Lionel back his phone.

"I take it Clark has decided to intervene with the investigation."

"I can't stop him. But I fear for his safety even if I know he's superhuman. What if he gets hurt? He has a weakness that could seriously harm him if he's not careful."

Lionel rested a hand on her knee. Though it was a gesture meant to reassure her, Martha was suddenly aware of the tremor she felt from his touch. She closed her eyes, willing herself to fight it. It was difficult when a part of her wanted to invite Lionel in.

She couldn't. She didn't trust him like she had Jonathan.

But even if Martha was warring between with what she desired and what she was trying so hard to deny, it didn't cease the racing of her heart at Lionel's closeness.

"Clark is a smart young man," Lionel said with clarity. "I have confidence that he will make the right decisions."

Martha felt reassured by his words. "You're right. I need to have more faith in my son. I know he'll choose what he knows is the best."

Lionel removed his hand from her knee, and Martha suddenly felt cold from the loss of his warmth.

"You raised him to be the compassionate young man he is today. You must be immensely proud of him," Lionel said.

Martha nodded. "I am. I'm blessed that I have Clark in my life."

A moment of silence settled between them. It was comfortable and tranquil, inviting only the breeze to be the words between them. There was so much unspoken, though. But neither Martha nor Lionel felt it appropriate to speak those words aloud; they would remain thoughts.

Lionel was the first to break the silence.

"This day is too fine to waste waiting and letting our anxieties build," he said lightly. "I have a surprise for you, Martha, if you wouldn't mind taking a little walk with me."

Martha thought that sounded more appealing than waiting for news about her attacker, but she had one little problem.

"A walk sounds wonderful," she agreed, "but I haven't the proper shoes. With the recent rain, it's probably muddy."

Lionel smiled. "I thought of that. Wait one moment; I'll be right back." He got up and disappeared inside. He returned a moment later carrying a pair of hiking boots fit for a trek through the mountains. Martha was pleasantly surprised.

"These were Lilian's," Lionel explained, setting the boots down in front of Martha. "She was never much of an activist. The boots hardly saw any use. I suppose she didn't have the inclination for trekking up mountains."

Martha slipped her feet into the boots and laced them up. She was pleased that they fit well enough for snugness and comfort.

"I'm ready," she announced, smiling up at Lionel. He offered her his hand, and without any hesitation, Martha took it. She stood and followed him off the porch into the balmy sunshine.

"It really is a gorgeous day," she sighed, taking in a lungful of air. It smelled fresh and sweet from the recent cleansing of rain.

"A change from the consistent dreariness that rain brings in its wake," Lionel agreed. "When the sun comes out after a long spell of stormy weather, it feels like this little corner of the world is being resurrected with the gift of light and warmth."

They headed down a well-worn path that cut through woods verdant with ferns and the lush greenery that spring brought in its wake. The trail was wide enough for two people to walk side-by-side companionably. Martha didn't let go of Lionel's hand. She was enjoying the loose knit of their fingers and the warmth of his palm.

"This is a beautiful place," she told him. "It reminds me of being back on the farm."

Lionel squeezed her hand in agreement.

"I think we all need a place that is our own personal haven where no one can find us," he said. "When I start to question my humanity, this is the place to come and sort out my most troubling thoughts."

"That's how I feel on the farm now. It's funny how much I took for granted. When I took the oath to become senator, my life changed so drastically that the only peace I can find now is in my home."

The trees opened up suddenly. There was a grassy slope that dipped gently down to a dock. A pond lay below, and sunlight reflected off the water in gleams of soft light. It was truly a beautiful place; a piece of heaven tucked away where no one could disturb the serenity. Martha glanced at Lionel with a wide smile of pleasure. Lionel chuckled.

"I knew you would like it," he said.

Martha started down the slope, tugging Lionel along in her wake. They stepped onto the dock and the wood creaked softly. A small rowboat was tied at the end, bobbing gently in the water. A flock of ducks swam leisurely nearby. They quacked amidst one another in their own language.

"I haven't rowed in awhile," Lionel said from behind Martha, "but I think it's a splendid day for a trip on the water, don't you agree?"

Martha nodded. "Yes, Lionel. A trip on the water sounds wonderful."


	3. Part Three

A/N: Here is the finale part of Time Stood Still.

Disclaimer: I don't own Smallville. This story is purely for fun.

* * *

Martha watched Lionel thoughtfully as he rowed the boat through the still water. He had a calm expression on his face that softened his usually serious features. He was obviously enjoying the physical effort of pulling the oars through the water. Being the fit man he was, the strain didn't seem to effect him.

Martha gazed into the water. She watched the smooth ripples caused by the boat. Being out in the water had brought an invigorating feeling of ease to her body. Slowly, she began to relax, enjoying the warmth of the sun and her comfortable companionship with Lionel. It made all thoughts of nearly being killed last night dissipate like the rain when the sun broke free from the clouds.

Lionel stopped rowing and allowed the boat to glide leisurely through the glistening water. They drifted into a secluded spot where sunlight stretched through branches of the trees surrounding the pond. It was chilly in the shade, but there was something elating and mystical about the place. The spot was hidden from view and offered privacy.

Martha was once more reminded that she was very much alone with Lionel. Although she should have been unnerved by the thought, she was instead comforted that he was with her. She wouldn't have wanted to share this moment with anyone else save for her son.

"A penny for your thoughts," Lionel said, breaking the silence. Martha finally met his gaze.

"I was thinking about the moment," she answered softly.

A smile of understanding graced Lionel's lips.

Martha continued. "For the first time in awhile, I feel truly relaxed." She averted her gaze to her lap to avoid looking at him again. "I was thinking that I'm glad it's you who I'm sharing this moment with."

Lionel cupped her chin in his fingers and lifted her gaze to meet his. His expression had changed, darkened into the emotion Martha had tried so hard to avoid. But she couldn't fight this attraction anymore―this feeling that drew her to this man.

"I want to kiss you, Martha," Lionel confessed softly. "I'm asking your permission. I don't wish to cause any rift between us because I acted out of impulse with my own selfish desires."

Martha closed her eyes. She was trying to tell herself she wasn't ready to allow him this part of her, but that would be a lie.

"Kiss me, Lionel," she whispered.

Lionel took her face in his hands. Martha leaned forward, and their lips brushed tenderly together. The kiss was tentative with uncertainty. But it awakened senses in Martha that made her heart plummet with impassioned awareness. She realized now what she had been missing by not letting Lionel get close to her: this powerful feeling of being wanted.

Martha leaned forward to invite Lionel in. She parted her lips, beckoning for the kiss to deepen. She wanted all of him, to taste him and give him all that she was in return.

A rumble of thunder interrupted their intimate moment. Both drew away at the same instant and glanced up at the sky. Ominous-looking clouds swollen with rain were beginning to roll in, threatening an oncoming storm. They had been so lost in the moment that neither had noticed that the wind had picked up. The water lapped more forcefully against the boat. The temperature had dropped, and the air was now cool.

Lionel gripped the oars and began to start back towards the dock. A cold raindrop splashed on Martha's nose. Several more came down and dotted the floor of the boat in dark patches.

"Do you think we'll make it up to the house in time before the storm hits?" Martha called loudly to be heard over the gusty wind.

"At the speed this storm is blowing in, there isn't much of a chance," Lionel answered. When they reached the dock, he leaped onto it and extended his hand to Martha. She grasped it and he pulled her easily to safety from the precariously rocking boat. By then, the rain had begun to come down, and her hair was already damp from it. She shivered from the cold.

"Shall we make a run for it?" Lionel called, not releasing her hand. "I can't promise we won't be drenched by the time we reach the porch, but perhaps we can beat the downpour before it comes."

"Good idea," Martha agreed readily. She thought Clark's super-speed would have come in handy this instant. He would have already been in the dry comfort of the cottage in the blink of an eye.

Martha and Lionel took off at a run. They retraced their steps, climbing up the hill then hurrying through the pathway. The sight of the cottage gave them both the rush of adrenaline they needed to finish their race to shelter. They were out of breath and soaked to the skin by the time they dashed under the roof of the porch.

"We made it," Martha gasped, trying to catch her breath. Her sides were splitting from their run. Her wet shirt stuck to her skin, and she was shivering from cold.

"Yes, we made it," Lionel agreed breathlessly, chest heaving.

Martha turned to face him, and by the force of need for his warmth, fell into his arms. She wove her fingers through his rain-soaked hair and leaned up to kiss him. Lionel responded with ardor, encumbering her up in his arms until their bodies were pressed close together. The kiss was wild with abandoned and need. It had no restraints to hinder the passion. Everything that had been bottled up inside Martha came pouring out in the heat of the moment. She suddenly wanted all of Lionel, and she needed it more than he knew.

"Lionel," Martha gasped, drawing breath into her lungs. "I want you to make love to me."

Lionel suddenly looked uncertain, hesitating to go any further and risk hurting her. He opened his mouth as if to protest, but Martha wouldn't let him.

"Please. I need you."

The breathy proclamation seemed to be Lionel's undoing. He entwined his fingers through hers, and together, they went inside. They didn't stop until they reached the bedroom where Martha had slept the night before. Now, there was no turning back. They both knew exactly what they wanted.

Martha's fingers were shaking. She fumbled with the buttons of her shirt until Lionel gently removed her hands and finished the task for her. He pushed the shirt off her shoulders and it fell to the floor in a heap. He leaned forward and pressed his lips to her bare shoulder. The tender touch sent a tremor of passion through Martha's body. She closed her eyes in ecstasy when he trailed his lips to her neck, tickling the sensitive spot behind her ear.

"Tell me to stop if you don't want me to proceed any further," Lionel muttered hoarsely. His breath was hot against her damp skin.

"That won't happen," Martha replied breathlessly.

Lionel's fingers easily unclasped her bra, and the garment joined the growing pile of discarded clothing on the floor. With a gentle tug, he pulled Martha tightly against him and gave her a kiss that promised a pleasurable afternoon ahead.

Martha fell into a blissful sleep after their ardent love making. She felt comfortable and safe in the strong arms of Lionel Luthor. She would even go as far as admitting she loved him, but those words remained inside her heart. It didn't seem the appropriate time to declare her feelings when she was still so uncertain about them and where they could lead her.

When Martha opened her eyes, her head was resting against Lionel's chest. Lionel was languidly stroking her shoulder with the pad of his thumb. When he saw her gazing at him, he smiled tenderly.

"I hope I didn't awaken you," he said.

Martha absentmindedly traced the outline of his collarbone. "No, you didn't. What time is it?" she asked.

"It's evening. You slept through the afternoon like an infant."

"I didn't realize how tired I really was. Usually I don't laze away the day sleeping."

Lionel tilted his head to the side to tenderly place a kiss on her temple. "You needed it, Martha. You've been working hard, and even the senator deserves a rest to rejuvenate."

Martha closed her eyes, enjoying the sensual feel of skin-against-skin. Their bodies melded perfectly together. She felt safe and cherished in Lionel's arms, and if time could stand still, she would want this feeling to last for eternity.

"Do we have to leave this wonderful place?" Martha muttered wistfully. She buried her face in the crook of his neck, trying to soak in every moment because she knew it couldn't last forever.

Lionel chuckled softly. "I know it's tempting, but both of us have an important role to play in the world outside of this haven," he said. "As much as I would like to spend my hours lying next to you, Martha, think of the people who are missing us in our absence."

Martha didn't want to think about the world that awaited her return. If she only had a spare amount of time left with Lionel until she had to put on the mask of stolidity to hide her feelings from the real world, she was going to savor every moment of now.

"We both know this can't continue when we return," Lionel said regretfully. His arms tightened around her, holding on as if he never wanted to let her go. "I don't want your reputation tainted because you have been seen on the arm of a Luthor. People are unkind, and I refuse to allow them to hurt you with their deceitful criticism."

Martha opened her eyes. She leaned up on her elbow to intently meet his gaze.

"We've already been through this, Lionel," she said seriously. "I'm not pushing you out of my life because of what people may think. I care about you too much to let influence and criticism matter."

Lionel's creased brow softened at her words. His eyes held tenderness in them as he rested his palm against her cheek.

"Martha, I . . . "

Martha waited, and she felt something stir inside her heart, perhaps at the realization that Lionel was fumbling with the words she wanted to say, but didn't know if the time was appropriate. She thought to bolster his confidence by being the first to announce the words that were difficult to pour out.

"I love you," she murmured, smiling softly and feeling her heart swell because she'd finally said the words. "I love you, Lionel," she repeated with more fervency.

Lionel looked dumbstruck by the words. He visibly swallowed, and suddenly, he smiled. "Martha," he murmured, caressing her cheek with his thumb. "I love you, too." He took her hand and pressed his lips to her knuckles. "You don't realize how happy you make me feel. Just when I believe I'm not capable of such tender feelings, you sweep in and remind me that I'm not the cold-hearted man everyone believes me to be."

Martha wove her fingers through his and squeezed. "I thought I would never find love again. But you showed me that I could."

"I've always loved you, Martha. You have been there for me when I needed compassion and a friend the most."

Martha felt a lump of emotions settle in her throat. She had always thought Lionel was a man capable of anything―a powerful figure who was respected and feared at the same time. But truly, he was vulnerable and he needed her love to heal his scarred heart. Why had she never seen it until now?

Because I have been fighting with the urge to either trust him or push him away, she thought regretfully.

Her own stupidity had made her blind.

But now, Martha wasn't going to push him away anymore. She was going to pull him close, because besides for Clark, he was the only other person in the world who truly understood her for who she was.

"Thank you, Martha," Lionel said suddenly.

Martha smiled in bewilderment, wondering what he meant. "For what?"

"For loving me when no one else could."

* * *

Clark paced the floor in front of Chloe's desk back-and-forth, thinking, waiting. They had spent the entire day investigating. The search to find the assassin and to locate his mother was fruitless. It wielded nothing but frustration and a building apprehension that made him want to pound his fist into something. But he was sure Chloe wouldn't appreciate her desk being smashed in two.

Clark was going to let the authorities handle the assassin now. What he really wanted was to find Mom and make sure she was safe. The thought that she was somewhere―alone―with Lionel Luthor was enough to make his blood boil. He didn't trust Lionel. He saw the way the man looked at his mother, and it was enough to tell Clark that if he didn't find them, something could happen to hurt Mom. She was still mourning―and vulnerable. Clark didn't want Lionel to use her vulnerability against her.

"Anything?" Clark pressed Chloe, whose gaze was intent on her computer screen. His tone sounded demanding and he winced. Chloe had been working hard. She didn't deserve to be on the other end of his pent up frustration.

"Patience, Clark," Chloe said in a soothing tone, glancing up at him in understanding. "I think I've almost gotten something. The signal I traced from the call between your cell and Lionel's this morning is almost impossible to locate. If you ask me, Lionel was well-prepared for making sure no one tracked him. But I think I can figure out a way to get passed the barrier."

Clark sighed heavily enough to ruffle the papers on Chloe's desk. He ran splayed fingers through his hair until it stood up on end.

"I'm just so worried for Mom."

"And you should be. Just give me a moment, and I'll have the location pegged in no time."

Clark came around the desk and took a seat in an extra chair. He was finished with wearing a hole in the floor; pacing would get him no where. He needed to learn how to exercise more patience. One of these days, his compulsion to rush into any disaster was going to get him into trouble that wouldn't allow for an explanation. He could risk exposing his secret if he wasn't more careful.

"There," Chloe exclaimed in triumph. She moved aside to show Clark the location on the map she had pulled up. "This is where Lionel is hiding your mother. Off the beaten path, and―"

A blast of air sent the papers on her desk spiraling to the floor. Chloe sighed, already stooping down to gather the flyaways up. She thought she was well-rehearsed for Clark's disappearing acts. But they took her aback each time.

"You're welcome, Clark," she muttered to herself, shaking her head.

* * *

After a hot shower with Lionel and a simple snack of crackers and cheese, Martha curled up on the sofa with him. His arms were around her, and she had her head reclined on his shoulder. A fire crackled in the hearth. It evoked feelings of comfort and warmth in the dancing red embers.

"I don't want to spoil the moment," Martha said huskily, "but is there any news on the capture of my attacker?"

She felt Lionel shake his head. "I haven't been updated on the investigation since early this morning," he answered. "But there is nothing to worry about. I have confidence that he will be found and brought into custody where he won't be able to hurt you."

"That's comforting. But I'm not worried at all."

Martha closed her eyes and and slid her her arms around Lionel's waist. Even though she was well rested with sleep, she felt herself doze off. Perhaps it was the heat of the fire that had this drugging effect on her, or the security she felt in Lionel's arms. She was beginning to fall asleep―until she was jolted awake by the sharp knocking at the door. Her heart plummeted from the scare.

"Lionel, who is that?" she asked, sitting upright. Her gaze flew to the door nervously, and her thoughts went wild. Could the assassin have been so determined that he had managed to locate them? But a man who wanted to kill someone wouldn't knock at the door to announce his presents, she reasoned. It had to be someone else.

"I don't know," Lionel answered, sounding unperturbed. He stood from the couch and moved cautiously to the door.

Martha scrambled off the couch and hurried to stand besides him, refusing to let him face whoever stood behind the door by himself.

"Stay behind me," Lionel ordered, nudging her behind him in a gallant act to protect her. Martha gripped his shoulder and stood a bit on her toes to see the door. She suddenly noticed the glock Lionel had in his hand, poised to use if the need arose. He was always prepared, she thought, comforted by the thought.

The knocking on the door persisted.

"Mom?" a familiar voice called.

Martha gasped. "It's Clark!"

Lionel's shoulders relaxed. He slid back the lock on the door and swung it open. Clark had his hand poised to knock again, but when he saw them, his mouth gaped opened. He looked dumbstruck. Martha smiled sheepishly. She must have looked a sight wearing Lionel's robe, her hair disheveled and hanging loose around her shoulders. Her son was probably jumping to conclusions.

"Mom," Clark said, stepping inside after regaining his composure. He opened his arms, and Martha fell into them. It felt good to hold her son again, though it had only been a short time since she kissed him goodbye in the comfort of the farmhouse kitchen. The hours had seemed like a lifetime.

"Are you okay?" Clark asked, holding her at arms length and gently shaking her.

Martha gripped his wrist and nodded fervently. "I'm fine. I'm just glad you are, too. I was worried."

Clark smiled in relief, his shoulders loosing their rigidness. "About me? Mom, nothing happened to me. It's you who should be worried for your welfare." He sighed and pulled her in for another hug. "You almost got killed."

"If it weren't for Lionel, I wouldn't be here," Martha murmured into his broad chest. "He saved me, Clark." She glanced behind at Lionel and smiled. Lionel had taken a respectful step back, but he came forward now.

"Clark, I hope there's no hard feeling between us," he said modestly. "I know I whisked your mother away, and I apologize if I caused you any worry, but she was safe with me."

Clark sighed, nodding. "Thank you for protecting her, Lionel," he said, sounding sincere, though a little reproachful.

Lionel's cellphone rang and he took a step away to answer. Martha watched his facial expression harden. It was a startling change from the smile of ease that had softened the lines only moments ago.

"That's excellent news. I'll be there shortly." He hung up and tucked his phone back into the pocket of his trousers. "Martha, they have apprehended your attacker," he told her. "The man is in custody. I believe it's safe for you to go home with Clark now."

Martha nodded, though inside, she felt the churning of disappointment. Their hours together were coming to an end and she felt depressed by the thought. She had hoped to have a bit more time alone with Lionel.

Lionel looked away, avoiding her gaze. "I'll call my driver," he said.

Martha spent thirty minutes dressing into the wrinkled dress shirt and trousers, and getting ready. She combed her hair diligently to get each tangle out until the brush went smoothly through the strands. She wondered how Clark and Lionel were taking each others' presence without her in the room. There was probably an tensed silence.

Martha finished and retraced her steps to the living room. She found Clark pacing in front of the hearth where the fire had burned down to dying embers. Lionel wasn't present. When Clark heard her, he stopped and turned to face her.

"Mom," he said, hesitating. He swallowed nervously. "I know it's none of my business, but what exactly happened between you and Lionel during the last twenty-four hours?"

Martha didn't know what to say. She hated lying to her son, but she also couldn't tell him the wonderful things she had experienced with Lionel. It was none of his concern.

"Nothing happened," she lied. It felt bitter on her tongue, but she was surprised how easy it came. "Lionel was only here to protect me. We discussed business matters as friends, but that was as far as things went."

Clark didn't seem to believe her, but he didn't question the matter further.

"I'm just glad you're alright. That's all the matters."

Martha looked away from him. There was more that had mattered to her in the last twenty-four hours, but it would have to remain locked inside her heart.

* * *

It was dark when the limo pulled up to the Kent farmhouse. Lionel wanted to walk Martha to the door, but with Clark's hovering presence, he could do nothing but stand beside the vehicle and keep his distance. He didn't want to give Clark any more reason to distrust him.

Martha hesitated, her eyes darting from Clark to Lionel. Clark seemed to realize he was intruding on what could be a tender moment, and though reluctant, left them to go into the house.

Martha took a step forward until she was close enough for Lionel to reach out and sweep her into his arms. He refrained from doing so no matter how much he wanted to feel her in his embrace for this goodbye.

"Lionel . . . " Martha reached for his hand and took it in both hers. "This isn't the end of what we shared―it's the beginning. I want to continue exploring this path with you."

Lionel wanted it, too. He was tired of hiding his feelings for Martha from the world, but there were consequences in allowing one's heart to take the lead in all matters. He couldn't begin listing the possibilities of what could go awry without it being long.

"If the world knew of my great affections for you," he explained, "they could use it to hurt both of us. Take last night as an example, Martha. The killer knew the tension between us. He used it to lure you, and in the process you were almost killed."

Martha's expression fell from hope to painful realization. Her gaze dropped to the ground to avoid his.

Lionel hated himself for causing her pain. But he would never forgive himself for being the reason something bad happened to her.

"Martha, try to understand," he pleaded. "I would go to the ends of the earth for you. And if that means keeping my distance so you don't fall prey to any more harm, I'll do it."

Martha vehemently shook her head. She finally looked up, and Lionel was startled to see the defiance in her eyes. He had a feeling that nothing he said would persuade her to follow the path that was best for both of them. She was such a strong woman, but she was also stubborn. He found himself smiling.

"Why do I get the feeling my words are failing to get through to you, hmm?"

Martha took a step closer to him. "I suppose you'll have to learn that when it comes to the people I love, nothing else matters." She touched his neck with splayed fingers. "I believe our lives are already planned. If fate means for us to be together, nothing else truly matters."

Lionel slid his arms around her waist and pulled her up against him so their bodies melded together. "Martha Kent, you are a wonderful woman. I don't deserve you." Then he dipped his head to capture her lips with his.

Martha threw her arms around his neck and clung to him as their lips played in a gentle kiss that sealed a promise of many more. It was short lived, but an enormity of passion filled that small space of time that seemed to stand still for the moment.

When Lionel drew away, he was smiling. "Will you meet me ? ? I know of an excellent Italian restaurant I think you'll love."

Martha stepped back, a little drunk from the kiss. "I wouldn't miss it for the world," she answered.

"Good. I'm looking forward to it."

Lionel disappeared into the cab of the limo, leaving Martha smiling widely. She touched her lips. Her cheeks were flushed, but it was with the pleasure that joy normally brought in its wake.

She was looking forward to lunch, too.

* * *

Lionel strode purposefully down the lit hallway, back to business. His destination was the interrogation room located on the below ground floor in Luthercorp. He was anticipating meeting the assassin face-to-face. He wanted to put fear into the worthless scum who had nearly succeeded in taking Martha's life.

"Mr. Luther," Private Agent Hanson greeted formally, walking towards Lionel. He came in step besides him. "The assassin won't say much, but he did confess to his near attempt of taking Senator Kent's life. His name is Bradly Gilbert. He is wanted for first-degree murder in the state of Kansas."

Lionel smiled grimly. "Wait outside. I want to speak with the man myself."

A security guard opened the door. Lionel entered the room and immediately took note of the gaunt-looking figure seated at the metal table, hands cuffed together in front of him. The assassin didn't look like a man who one would fear, but when he looked up, he had the cold, calculating look in his eyes of a killer.

"I hope you're finding your treatment in my custody to be satisfactory," Lionel said insincerely. "Although, I think you deserve less than my generous hospitality after your treachery."

Gilbert sneered nastily. "I may have failed this time to put an end to you, Luthor, but I'm not done trying." He pounding his fist on the table with vehemence. His expression took on a wild desperation that made his eyes bulge. "I know of your affection for Senator Kent. I knew if I killed her, you wouldn't be able to forgive yourself for failing to saving her. It would have driven you to the end."

Lionel was suddenly unsettled. He nearly lost his composure then and there. He took an imposing step closer and locked eyes with the killer.

"You have chosen to affront the wrong man," he said coldly. "You won't live to see the light because of this grave mistake. I'll make certain of it." Lionel turned to leave, not wasting any more breath on this worthless scum. But before he left, he turned for one last menacing glare for good measure. "No one tries to hurt Martha Kent and gets away with it without feeling my wrath."

With that, Lionel left the room, leaving Gilbert to suddenly realize his fate. The door shut with a heavy thud.

Agent Hanson jerked his head at the closed door. "What do you want us to do with Gilbert?" he asked.

Lionel calmly stuffed his hands in his pockets. He looked ready to go for a casual stroll. The hardness in his eyes when he had first entered the room and come out had been replaced with an almost cool pleasantness. Agent Hanson was glad he wasn't on the receiving end of Lionel Luther's cold side.

"Dispose of him," Lionel ordered, then turned and walked back in the direction he came.

He had promised he would do anything for Martha. That meant protecting her, even if he had to dispose of anyone who tried to hurt her.

Martha didn't need to know that. She just needed to understand his devotion to her.

Lionel checked the Rolex watch on his wrist. He had two hours before he picked Martha up for their lunch date. The thought brought the first smile of the day to his face.

Lionel was looking forward to the lunch date. It would be the starting of a new chapter in his relationship with Martha: to let the world see what was blossoming between them.

Martha had taught him that it didn't matter what people thought or did to hurt them. What mattered was what they wanted.

They didn't have to hide from the world anymore.

* * *

A/N: Thank you for all the kind and wonderful reviews you guys gave me. It's always so heartwarming to hear what someone has enjoyed about my work. It is also encouraging to me as a writer. Thanks again! — Elisabeth


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